


Harmony

by Amythe3lder



Series: Look for the Light [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Mygolly, POV Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock Tries To Be A Bit Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3260816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amythe3lder/pseuds/Amythe3lder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harmony

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stickyrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/gifts).



> She hears a chorus of factory girls  
> Singin' in the streets  
> "Factory Girls"-Flogging Molly

Martha Hudson had seen some things.

At the moment, she was noticing- not for the first time- that for all their fine qualities, neither of her tenants had ever properly learned to clean a kitchen. Not that it was dirty, especially. Since little Elanor had moved in with her dad, they had done an admirable job of keeping things up, but they seemed unaware that a good deep scrub was still required periodically. Lucky them, they had her.

This past spring, they’d come up with their offer to rent 221C for use as a lab. Her first thought had been to question how dividing up the mess would help anyone, least of all her, but her boys had drawn up a contract whereby she was suddenly being paid enough to cover both flats and some extra besides. “For, you know, the tea and the laundry and... the noise,” Sherlock had looked away, and they had both pretended that the noises were confined to the recent happy ones.

When he’d come back from the dead, he’d brought with him all manner of new quirks. He’d gone to checking all the locks at regular intervals and asking her if she remembered to do the same. He’d become more aware of where she was, whether she was alone, what she was doing, and- miraculously- whom she was doing it for. When he realised that she took his trash out with her own the night before the truck came, he’d started carrying it instead and asking her to watch his back while he did so. When she tidied up in his room, she’d discovered that he was sleeping with a knife under one pillow and Molly Hooper frequently on the other.

It had only taken her one wash cycle to decide that things were not as simple as they appeared. While Molly’s pyjamas tumbled in the dryer, Martha had considered that Sherlock had been making an awful lot of racket at night: bumps and shouts and what sounded like soft crying when all the other movement stopped. On nights when the pathologist visited, there was the low murmur of voices and then... total silence. Even beyond all of that, love was a language she spoke fluently; she was pretty sure that what was going on up her stairs was affection, comfort, and healing.

Not that it was any of her business, of course.

She had wondered for a moment that Sherlock would choose Molly for company during his dark days, but it occurred to her that Sherlock didn’t see someone who would be easily overpowered and therefore unable to protect him. When he looked at the small woman, he saw a proven and trusted friend, one with her own fears. If there’s one thing a mouse knows, it’s how to stay safe.

Today, she was performing the best part of her duties as a landlady to the Watson and Holmes household by keeping an eye on the little one while the detective and the blogger interviewed a potential client. From the young man’s manner and tone, she doubted they’d take his case. Oh, it might be exciting enough, but her boys expected a decent level of respect for the job they’d be doing, and that man was already treating them like entry-level employees. Anyway, it was Thursday, and time for another wedding-planning session. They couldn’t devote every week to colour-swatches and cake-tasting, but it was always on this day when the main players in the wedding party showed up to help make decisions. She thought it was rather sweet, and the Holmes brothers had begun almost getting along.

Molly had arrived first as usual, as she worked closer to Baker Street than the other two. Before the client had turned up, Martha had been treated to hearing Sherlock sing. It seemed music for the reception as well as the engagement party was on the agenda this evening, so before the pathologist had unplugged her headphones, the tall man had greeted her and asked what she was listening to. Molly had answered by hitting a button on her phone. The stairwell was filled with notes from a tin whistle which was quickly joined by a raucous drumbeat. She hadn’t known that an accordion could sound so angry, and she blinked in surprise.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the woman. “Flogging Molly? How evocative. Come on, then.” Martha had followed behind them after a moment with the scones she’d just pulled from the oven. When she made the first landing, she could hear that the song had changed and the two friends were singing a much quieter tune in what might be Gaelic. They wove their voices until it sounded like a rainstorm in the upstairs flat.

When the song ended, John was stuck still, staring at Sherlock, “Leave it to you to harmonise in languages no one knows anymore. Why not?” the doctor grinned and shook his head at his fiancé, "You’re better than I am at everything else.”

“That isn’t true, though. You’re far more effective at being a person. That’s why I have you.”

Upon becoming a landlady, she had believed that she was waving farewell to her colourful past and never imagined that she had an equally vibrant future to look ahead to. She had watched two lonely and unhappy men take turns finding one another for years before they had finally managed to get together. She had witnessed her Sherlock rounding some of his pointier corners and putting in effort to be better, and John bending to reach across both men’s mutual distrust of anything shiny and good.

Speaking of which.

It seemed Molly hadn’t liked the client very much, either. When he’d appeared, she’d asked Sherlock if her spare brush was still where she’d left it, and ducked into his bedroom to retrieve it after seeing his nod. Through the translucent panelling, Martha spotted the younger woman coming back up the hall with her arms loaded with her forgotten possessions. She was staying tightly to the wall, and she’d just reached the doorway and started to come join her and Elanor in the kitchen when the ill-mannered man raised his voice from where he’d been offhandedly commenting about the unprofessionalism of seeing clients in a shabby living room.

“If you’re as good as everyone says, you ought to be able to afford an office, not someplace with babies and- oi there! Have you got actual stars and sheep on those pyjamas?” he called out derisively, and Martha saw the shy young doctor shrink further even as she froze and fumbled for an answer.

“No.” The answer came from the front door, and as she brought her unofficial granddaughter out to stand by Molly, she saw that Sherlock’s older brother had just slipped in with the inspector coming close behind. Mycroft Holmes had so surprised their unpleasant guest that he was the uncomfortable one now, and certainly no longer the best dressed person in the room. Martha didn’t think she’d ever been so happy to see the stuffy diplomat.

Greg Lestrade piped up while giving the stranger a hard look, “You see mate, those are stylized artistic renderings.”

“Yes, if they were _actual_ \- as you suggested- those nightclothes would be on fire, and the fire would smell delicious. Miss Hooper, how would you season star-braised lambchops?”

Molly’s bewildered expression had been solidly replaced by one of relief, “Well, mint is a perennial favourite for lamb, but I prefer thyme, crushed garlic, and rosemary in a rub.”

“Oh good,” Sherlock said, “you’re all here.” He turned to the man with a smile that wasn’t, and dismissed him, “That was entertaining for a few minutes, do run along.”

“You’re not taking my case? But you wrote down all my information.”

John explained, “Yeah, we try to keep decent notes, especially when we get puzzles even I can solve. You stole all that money, maybe more.” He spoke over his daughter’s babbling as he scooped her out of Martha’s arms and took a scone, “Your clothes are old but your good hair is new. When you were accused of embezzling, you started wearing your cheap suits again, but you forgot about the haircut. That cost more than, say, a posh office for receiving toffee-nosed gits like you.”

The man left.

Molly dropped her things and went to thank Mycroft and Greg for their timely intervention. Martha was a little taken aback to see that the form her gratitude took was kisses for both men. Oh. Well, then. Thinking back, a lot of little things made sense now.

Sherlock broke the moment, “So I’ve had a thought-”

“Impressive, brother.” Molly frowned sternly at Mycroft, and he inclined his head and continued, “What about?”

“Two of our wedding guests have complimentary traits. They are unhappily single. Perhaps with a little effort, we can get that sorted.”

**Author's Note:**

> The first song that plays is "Devil's Dance Floor"- Flogging Molly. The one they sing together a few minutes later is Enya's "Storms In Africa" and both are on the [playlist](http://8tracks.com/amythe3lder/snips8track) for these shorts.


End file.
